Another Little Bastard tried to kill me yesterday.
On the flip side? I am still here.
Sometime in the latter part of last winter I had begun to wonder if the venom therapy was worth the cost. A shot of yellow-jacket venom every 8 weeks isn't too bad. But when the vile runs out and they have to synthesize a new vile? Break out the checkbook.
A few years ago the Little Bastard's great uncle put me in the ER with anaphylaxis. The paramedics did a great job - even took care of my dog. Long story short, the the docs and their epinephrine did their thing masterfully and thus began my education of epi-pens and Benadryl.
Yesterday was the first test. I knew it as soon as felt the heat and swiped at my arm. Walking away from the back yard shed I glanced over my shoulder and confirmed the yellow and black crawling back into the roof seam. I walked calmly to the kitchen where my wife met me with the Benadryl. Epi-pen at the ready on the counter. And then to wait...
Loaded the clothes washer.
Took out the garbage.
Retrieved the mail.
Anything to alleviate the anxiety.
After twenty minutes I settled on the couch to debate if the brain fog was the venom or the Benadryl. After thirty decided it was the antihistamine and began to relax a bit. The sting on my arm wasn't enflamed = good sign. Breathing normal. Wasn't much of struggle to keep my eyes open. All good. Then the Benadryl kicked in with it's magic. I spent the next couple of hours in and out of a semi-comatose state. By bed-time felt pretty much back to normal.
Suffice to say the decision has been made on continuing the venom shots. And my wife will from here on out well be known as Mistress Bee Killer! She rocks.
Here is a good explanation of venom therapy.
I recommend this place to anyone with ANY kind of allergy:
Allergy and Asthma Consultants of Mid-Michigan
The day the most beautiful woman in the world walked down the aisle and chose me as her husband. I was getting old and gnarly and she was young, gorgeous and vibrant. A force to be reckoned with. She chose me. She made my life. And still does.
The day Maxwell Thomas came into this world and the following two weeks he spent catching up and fighting his way out of the NICU and to our home. Maybe because he was forced to start early his brain has developed a quick wit. He takes everything in and blows me away with his words. He's tall. He'll be taller than me and I love that. He has a kind heart and can't wait to meet his little brother.
The day Molly Rose came into our lives. It seems she has had that happy little grin since the day she was born. She taught me then, and continues to prove there is only one Molly Rose in our world, and the world might implode if there were another. She tries so hard to use words bigger than she is and more often than not sounds them out even though her definitions may be a little off. But just a little. At five she wants to be an artist. A waltz teacher. A superhero. She is so loving. She is a force like her mother.
Henry Robert. Not so patiently waiting for our second boy to come home. Like Maxwell he couldn't wait to cook all the way and now is playing catch-up in the same NICU. As much as we need him home he needs to be were he is. When he cracks his one eye open and looks up at me, then stretches his little arms above his head and finishes with a little squeaky yawn... It's everything.
I have so much to be thankful for. Our families for taking care of us in this hectic time. The people I work with letting their lives be affected by mine, and being OK with it. I owe all of you big time.
I knew who I was as a teen, as a single adult and I know who I am now. Annie, Maxwell, Molly and Henry. If I am to be defined by them, that's so OK with me.